I’ve been digging through some of my old writings from 2020. One of them was about how much I loved myself. Back then, I sounded so rooted, so aligned, so full of belief in who I was becoming. Reading it now, I couldn’t help but stop and think…what happened?
Somewhere along the way, I drifted. I don’t align with that version of myself anymore. I break promises to myself, and sometimes to others too. And when you do that long enough, belief dies quietly, like the plant on my desk I forget to water every day. It sits in front of me as a reminder, another unmet promise, another reflection of the care I keep saying I’ll give but don’t.
It’s not just about the plant. It’s about me. About the version of myself I once wrote about with love and clarity, and the version I sit with now, wondering how I got so far from her.
Shesdoinggreatthings 